


work from home

by shirogains



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blowjobs, Established Relationship, Facials, Firefighter!lance, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, cop!Pidge, cop!shiro, mild exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 02:31:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10912509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogains/pseuds/shirogains
Summary: Shiro elects not to start demanding answers, exhaling slowly. “Start talking.”“I was hoping we wouldn’t have to talk,” Lance murmurs. “I had something else in mind, if you don’t have any complaints.”The words take a second for Shiro to digest between his racing thoughts and the accelerating pulse thrumming under his skin.“Then why didn’t you say so?” he mutters, yanking Lance closer by the coveralls folded over at his waist. “Come on, let’s go home; I’ll call out early and make up for it later in the week...” He trails off, eyebrow arching as Lance remains steadfast despite Shiro’s attempts to make him move. He doesn’t trust the mischievous glimmer in Lance’s eyes any more than he does that playful smile, well aware of how fast Lance can drag him down to unspeakable depths with it. “Wait, you’re not suggesting…”Lance raises one shoulder in a lackadaisical shrug. “I’m suggesting.”





	work from home

**Author's Note:**

> warming up for shance big bang, ahahaaaa? 
> 
> don't tell me lance didn't almost burn his own apartment down to get the hot cop's attn, ok...
> 
> any feedback you have is highly appreciated. <3 thanks for reading!

The phone on Shiro’s desk chirps for the third time in forty-five minutes. He tosses his pen at the wall separating his office from Pidge’s and buries his face in a palm, then smacks the speaker button and fights to keep his tone level. “First it was asking whether I believe in the hypothetical sentience of robots, and then it was whether I’d filed that incident report from last week. What now?”

“Just checking you remembered to update your signature,” Pidge answers. “It was still set to the old one in the last email you sent me about…five minutes ago. You need to get with the times, Shiro. It’s protocol. The fundraiser goes live tomorrow and I’m not explaining to Allura why you can’t remember.”

“You’re supposed to be my best friend,” Shiro mutters, maximising the internet browser window to find his signature is indeed still a perfunctory: _Regards, T Shirogane_. He hits the backspace button and types in the new fundraising reminder, followed by his name again. “Thought you had my back.”

Pidge makes an indignant noise, and both over the phone and from the next room over the sound of her kicking the side of the desk is deafening. “I do have your back. That’s why I’m telling you before Allura comes down on you like a ton of bricks.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“And,” Pidge continues, “to see if you wanted to grab drinks after work? My shout.”

Shiro wants to drawl _no thanks_ , but what comes out is, unsurprisingly, the far-less-brutal truth. “Got dinner plans with Lance already.”

“There should be a sorry in there somewhere.”

“No.”

Pidge heaves a loud, exaggerated sigh. “Fine, see if I ever save your ass again,” she mumbles. “Who needs you, anyway?”

“You,” Shiro reminds her. “It’s almost eight. Don’t you have a flock of pigeons to feed or something? Go home, Pidge.”

He chuckles to himself as he hears Pidge sliding drawers open on the other side of the wall, the slam of a laptop lid.

“Another late night, huh?” Pidge muses. “They’re gonna kill you one day. I’m willing to bet money your cholesterol is already at lethal levels. All that steak, Shiro… You’re a walking cocktail for a heart attack.”

“Leave the steak out of it,” Shiro says, stressing each word carefully. “I want to sleep in tomorrow.”

“Never,” Pidge declares, then pauses. “And it’s _one_ pigeon that likes Hunk’s egg sandwiches a heck of a lot more than me, not a whole flock.”

They hang up on each other at the same time, and Shiro grins as he thumps the wall with a fist. Pidge thumps back in answer.

* * *

He yawns when the words on the screen start blurring together and reaches for his coffee cup, only to find it empty. He used the last of the strongest roast he could find in the lunchroom and made a note to himself to pick up more on the way home from dinner with Lance later. At this rate, he’ll be asleep on the table before the main course arrives, so he stands and rifles through a drawer for his wallet. The cold, watered-down coffee in a can from the vending machine will have to suffice until he can convince Lance to swing by a gas station for something he can tailor to his tastes.

In theory, a triple shot should get him through dinner and allow him to pay attention to the conversation. If the caffeine rush follows him through the night and takes a few hours to wear off, either Lance’s foster kitten or mind-numbing infomercials will keep him entertained. After all, tomorrow is the first morning he’s been allowed to sleep in for well over a month.

His fingers brush the leather exterior of his wallet just as the door opens. Shiro looks up sharply, tensed, but it’s just Lance standing there. His posture melts back into relaxation, shoulders slumping with relief. He’s gone through half a jar of coffee in a single night, so being on edge makes complete sense. Pushing his hand through his hair, Shiro grins wearily.

“Hey,” he greets, the wallet forgotten momentarily. “Almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Didn’t mean to,” Lance says, slouching back against the doorframe with folded arms in a pose so casual and uncharacteristic it makes Shiro do a double-take.

He’s used to outright flirting, not the subtlety Lance is aiming for. Shiro’s eyebrows inch up slowly.

There’s nothing unusual about how Lance looks; he’s still in his work coveralls, a bit sooty and grimy from the knees down. The smile curling at his lips is quiet but playful. And calm, which is atypical. He has the aura of someone who had a good day, relaxed and still buzzing with a quiet energy even though he has to be feeling the fatigue of a twelve-hour shift. Shiro has wondered what that must feel like, but it must be all in a day’s work for a firefighter.

There’s something unnerving about the nonchalance of Lance’s gaze as it rakes over Shiro. He rubs an eye with the heel of his hand, figuring it’s the caffeine overdose in its early stages.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, sliding some cash into his pocket and heading for the door. “Dinner’s not for another hour. Shit, don’t tell me I got the time wrong again.”

“No, you’re right on the money” Lance assures. “Literally, aha—“ There’s the Lance he knows. “I just wanted to see how you were doing, is that a crime? I barely saw you this morning, you ran off so damn fast.”

Shiro passes a hand over the back of his neck in faint embarrassment as he stops in front of Lance. “Sorry. Pidge was waiting out front. He uses the horn if I’m not quick enough and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Don’t sweat it.” Lance’s smile widens. “I just went back to sleep, anyway. Need my eight hours, you know how it is.”

“Good,” Shiro says, curling a hand around Lance’s neck and drawing him in for a soft, warm kiss. “I’ll be back in a minute if you want hang around before we go. Just got a few things to finish up.”

His hand makes it to the doorknob before Lance shifts his weight against the door, and it closes. Shiro arches an eyebrow and tries again but Lance stands firm, shoulders braced. His smile has gained a flirtatious quality to it and just the slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes makes something hot spark in Shiro’s chest.

“What’s going on, Lance?” he questions. “If I forgot to turn the stove off again, I—”

Shiro breaks off at the tremble of Lance’s frame as he laughs raucously. “No, that’s not it.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, shoving at Lance’s shoulder. “Tell me what’s so funny and I might still go out with you.”

“It’s nothing,” Lance muses, cocking his head to one side. “You’re cute.”

“Cute?” Shiro echoes in disbelief, recoiling just enough to appear affronted. “That’s it?”

“More than cute,” Lance admits, stepping away from the door. The bump of his chest against Shiro’s forces him back. He wraps a hand around one of the suspenders dangling at Lance’s waist.

“Takeout is sounding better by the second.”

“I came here for a reason, Shiro.”

Shiro gazes at him, the corner of his lips quirked in mild interest. “You have yet to tell me what it is, Lance.”

Humming, Lance nods and his fingers circle Shiro’s wrist. “Not here.”

“What the hell is wrong with here, it’s—”

Shiro barely gets the words out before Lance drags him across the room to his desk. Everything is in order, everything has its own place. The reek of smoke clinging to Lance’s clothes will irrefutably linger in the room long after they leave, and Shiro has enough of Pidge’s questions to answer of a morning without her zeroing in on the scent of his boyfriend.

Shiro elects not to start demanding answers, exhaling slowly. “Start talking.”

“I was hoping we wouldn’t have to talk,” Lance murmurs. “I had something else in mind, if you don’t have any complaints.”

The words take a second for Shiro to digest between his racing thoughts and the accelerating pulse thrumming under his skin.

“Then why didn’t you say so?” he mutters, yanking Lance closer by the coveralls folded over at his waist. “Come on, let’s go home; I’ll call out early and make up for it later in the week...” He trails off, eyebrow arching as Lance remains steadfast despite Shiro’s attempts to make him move. He doesn’t trust the mischievous glimmer in Lance’s eyes any more than he does that playful smile, well aware of how fast Lance can drag him down to unspeakable depths with it. “Wait, you’re not suggesting…”

Lance raises one shoulder in a lackadaisical shrug. “I’m suggesting.”

“You want to fuck,” Shiro says, “in here.”

“Guilty.”

“They sterilise the carpet in here twice a week. There’s no way I’m exposing my ass to that many chemicals.”

“Who said anything about the floor?” Lance asks. “Use your head, babe.”

Shiro weighs that in his head for a moment, then grins. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

Laughing, Lance takes him by the shoulders and reverses their positions in a few well-executed steps. Shiro’s back makes contact with the door and he loses the capacity to breathe when Lance slides to his knees, tucking his legs underneath him.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he says to Shiro’s belt. In a matter of moments deft fingers have unbuckled it and popped open the buttons, and he pulls the tail of Shiro’s shirt out, ruching it up around his abdomen and turning his eyes up to Shiro’s. “Hold this.”

All Shiro can do is comply, taking a fistful of the shirt and sucking in a sharp breath when Lance works his pants down to mid-thigh, freeing his half-hard cock and taking it in hand.

He grins up at Shiro like all of this has gone according to his plans. “Seems like you’re not very against fucking in your office, Shiro.”

Shiro is having second thoughts about letting slip any of his half-hearted fantasies in the slow, hazy aftermath of sex. Lance is dangerous because he remembers those fantasies, and more so because he holds on to things well after Shiro has forgotten them. His heart hammers against the confines of his ribcage, and he swipes away the sweat starting to bead on his upper lip.

“All day, huh?” he teases, but the effect is lost as his voice tapers off to a low noise when Lance’s tongue grazes the base, hot and damp. His breath fans over the crease of Shiro’s hip and thigh.

“Yeah.” Their eyes meet briefly, intensely as the tip of Lance’s tongue dips into the slit. Shiro swallows a groan. Lance reaches into his coveralls with his free hand, the moan he emits reverberating up and down Shiro’s cock. His back bows, and he slides further down Lance’s open and willing throat. His hand settles in Lance’s hair, threading through the strands the way he knows makes Lance shiver below him. Lance’s hand works away under the fabric of his clothes.

“Shit, Lance,” he mumbles, a flush rising to the back of his ears.

Lance’s cheeks hollow with every pull up, the sheen of saliva on Shiro’s arousal making him forget why he’s ever questioned any of Lance’s ideas. Lance knows what Shiro wants—even if he doesn’t himself much of the time—and this isn’t the first instance where Lance has held on to some innocuous thing mentioned in passing and brought it to fruition. All for Shiro’s benefit.

The realisation more than the searing heat of Lance’s mouth has him groaning for more, fingers twining through Lance’s soft hair.

Each time Lance’s warm mouth encases him serves as a reminder to always, _always_ go along with whatever Lance suggests in the future. Lance moans long and low around Shiro, wrist working away erratically between his own thighs, and Shiro uses the hand buried in Lance’s hair to drag him back. He watches with a hungry fascination as the outline of his cock slides from Lance’s throat. Shiro’s teeth close around a soft, hungry noise when Lance’s tongue runs along his bottom lip, a hint of teeth catching the inside of it.

“You’re going to catch a load if you don’t stop,” he warns, hand sliding from Lance’s hair to cup his jaw instead. He thumbs at Lance’s lip to feel for himself the indentation of teeth, and he’s rewarded by Lance darting his tongue out over it.

“Do you want to come?” Lance asks, his words as direct as his tongue as it traces the vein on the underside and then sweeps up the dribble of precome from the tip.

Shiro drags in a breath, short and sharp and _tight_. “Not—not like this.”

Unerring, Lance gives him a rough stroke. “Then tell me how, Shiro. You’re a big boy,” he says with an impish grin, squeezing Shiro, “so use your words.”

“In my bed?” Shiro mutters. “Like any civilised per—shit, don’t bite me, Lance!”

Lance detaches his teeth from Shiro’s inner thigh, lips quirked into a ruthless smile. “There’s nothing wrong with changing it up, and if you think there is you’ve spent too much time with Allura and her rules and regulations. Choose, or I’m choosing for you.”

A reason not to exists, Shiro is certain of it. But it’s nowhere to be found in his head, and he’s fast losing the capacity for thought the longer Lance’s talented mouth is anywhere near the treacherous, unreasonable part of him that rules him so completely in this moment.

“Where, then?” he asks hoarsely, out of curiosity.

“On my face?” Lance suggests.

Shiro pauses. “Are you serious?”

“Completely,” Lance agrees, sliding his fingers down the inside of Shiro’s thigh, raising his skin in goosebumps. “If you think you can do it.”

“Of course I can.”

“Last time you said you felt like you were dehumanising me,” Lance reminds him.

Shiro covers his face with a hand. “You sprung it on me at the last moment, what was I supposed to say?”

“Yes?” Lance purrs. “That’s kind of the can-do attitude I’m looking for here, _sir_.”

Lance reminds Shiro of his problem, nimble fingers grazing the shaft. Shiro jerks, and claims Lance’s shoulder with a hand; he pushes Lance back just slightly, and steadies him there. “And make sure you close your eyes this time.”

“Trust me, I will,” Lance says. “Stung like a bitch.”

Shiro tries to take in a breath but all he does is stare as Lance peels off his shirt, revealing bare skin that Shiro wants to taste and mark in his own time, unhurried. He sits back against the desk when Lance moves in close, nuzzling against his hipbone. “Stay still.”

“In a second.” Lance’s breath is warm and he closes his lips over the head of Shiro’s cock before he moves away again, teeth closing around the skin of Shiro’s thigh and wringing a low moan out of him. He grins up at Shiro indulgently, palming at his chest and pinching a nipple as his hand creeps down again to stroke himself off.

It’s enough of a visual to get Shiro through a thousand lonely nights. He groans in tandem with Lance as he follows suit, hand curling around his cock tightly to pull and stroke in fitful motions; he peaks within moments, coming in thick, hot ropes across Lance’s chest and collarbone. Lance purrs faintly, grasps at his thigh, and leans up to collect the last of Shiro’s release with his tongue.

Breathing raggedly, Shiro loosens his grip and shifts it to the desk, supporting himself. Below, Lance is looking like the cat who got the cream, stroking himself languidly. He doesn’t move to wipe away the come streaking his body, continuing to massage at Shiro’s thigh as he catches his breath again.

He can’t help but notice Lance deliberately held himself off. That’s unusual too, unless Lance has an ulterior motive in mind.

Shiro assumes that they’ll be skipping dinner.

“Was this all part of your plan?” he asks, still a bit breathless. “Seems like a lot of effort just for a quick—“

“I never said this would be quick,” Lance interjects, rubbing his fingers through Shiro’s come; he’s in no rush to achieve his own orgasm, now clearly pacing himself for the next round. His eyes are alight with mischief. Despite himself, Shiro is hardening again, and he swallows down the impulse to ask Lance what that means in detail. “You better cancel our reservations, babe.”

**Author's Note:**

> i can be found at [tumblr](http://shirogains.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/shirogains)!!


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